


His. (gluestick)

by orphan_account



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Courting Rituals, Enemies to Lovers, Forced Marriage, Hate to Love, King Bokuto Koutarou, M/M, Prince Akaashi Keiji
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:40:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25015615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: After a naive mistake in his youth, Akaashi has sworn off love. A forced marriage to a man he despises seems like a failproof plan. At least it is, until the husband in question decides to seduce him.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Akaashi Keiji/Terushima Yuuji
Comments: 3
Kudos: 35





	His. (gluestick)

He is dragged to court in the morning, barely dressed and scarcely half woken up. It's a struggle to keep his face stoic and his head just as high, but he comforts himself with the knowledge of his efforts. Though he acknowledges that they are all in vain; it's difficult to maintain an air of dignity when your nipples are out for the whole world to see.

He meets his father's ice-cold eyes and never flinches. The gaze his father bestows on him is scathing, but it's the only thing Akaashi inherited from him, so he gives it just as good.

He will not be ashamed.

'You whore,' his father spits out. The entire court immediately bursts into chatter at the first hint of the conflict. Akaashi's secret has only seen the sun for a mere two minutes, but it's not that hard to figure out what he has done.

The proof of his crimes is laid bare for all to see, marking him from head to toe in hues of red and blue. His robe is ripped and scarcely conceals him. His arms, stomach and legs, exposed to the judgemental scrutiny are peppered with dry white flakes.

His father's words are only confirmation to the whispers. All around him are people he's dined with, debated with around round tables and exchanged polite smiles with. People who would scramble to greet him at walls, gladly sidle up to him to talk and flatter him praise just for the chance to talk to him. Now they look at him like they can scarcely recognise him. Some genuinely look shocked, but most of them can't quite manage to hide the glee in their eyes.

'Do you... do you have any idea what you have done?' His father's voice is gruff and stifled with disappointment.

 _I have loved. And I have been loved back._ Akaashi thinks. 

He remains silent, watching his father's hand, twitching against his staff. His entire body is taut with rage and Akaashi fears that at any moment, he will be struck. It has happened before, three times, but he had been young then. He is much older, not enough of a reason to stop the king from disciplining him still, but he hopes the presence of the court will be good enough.

'No one will want you now.'

Again, Akaashi does not open his mouth to refute this. He does not think that his father wants to know that he is already wanted and that as long as he is, he will never need anyone else. He keeps his mouth shut and hopes the words are conveyed in his eyes. 

His father turns his face away from him and orders the guards to lock him up.

**

Akaashi spends three weeks refusing to apologise. He is strapped in a tower, with only a bed and a desk and time to think about what he has done. Food comes to him every morning and evening, and the guard manages to snuggle some paper to keep him sane.

He spends his first week doing the same thing. In the morning, he washes. He strips and pauses to trace every bruise and mark his lover left on him that night. He slowly grazes his hand down his neck to his stomach, fingertips lightly touching and he remembers his lover's gentle hold.

After he eats, he sits down and he tries to write. He composes three letters, each just as direct and abrupt no matter how much he tries to be lyrical. 

In the first, he says that he is happy and he is thinking about _him_ constantly. In the second, he talks about their first night together and wills _him_ to understand that he is not upset that _he_ left, and that they were caught. He tells him that he likes it better this way anyway because there are no secrets left to hide and they can be together always like _he_ said. In the third, he asks _him_ to come back for him. Come get him out of here.

The guard is a close friend of his, and has watched Akaashi grow up. Akaashi has no reason to not trust him with the letters, and the guard has no reason not to say no. Every afternoon, when the guard takes his break, Akaashi passes the letters to him, and every morning the guard returns and promises that he has had them delivered.

Every evening, he is left with enough hope to look at his father, through the iron bars that divide them and tell him that he does not regret a thing.

The doubt rolls in the second week when the guard hesitates before accepting the letters. He does not need to say it, but Akaashi knows when he is being told to give up.

It makes him irrationally angry, and he pushes the epistles into the other's hand roughly. He spends the day seething, teeth grinding. 

_They don't know about us. They know nothing about us._

By the time the sun rolls around and his father comes again to demand his apology, Akaashi is whispering to himself, more to convince himself than anyone else.

That night, uncertainty slips in like eels, and he is not as sure when he repeats his words. 'There's nothing to be sorry for.'

He tosses and turns in his bed and tries to remember. The bruises on his skin have faded, and his fingers feel cold. When he wakes up, a fresh wave of loneliness hits him and he finds himself back to the same morning that started it all.

His bed feels empty. Akaashi never cries, but his eyes feel heavy with tears.\

In the third week, he stops writing the letters. He keeps his back turned away when his father visits, and he doesn't say a word.

There are some nights he can feel his lover's golden hair, scraping his back, a hand pressing down his chest. It's not as exciting as he remembers. At most, it feels like a bush of thorns drawing blood, a steady pressure ripping out his heart.

The fourth week, the iron-barred door opens and the guard is on the other end. Akaashi takes one look at him and his heart betrays him. 

'What is it?'

The guard's smile is sad. Akaashi's gaze drops down to the envelope he holds in his hand. His hands reach out and snatch the letter, ripping it open.

His hands shake as he reads, his eyes are a little too blurry to make out the words he already knows are there.

_'...sorry...'_

_'...just some fun...'_

_'...wife... two beautiful children...'_

_'... don't deserve you...'_

In the end, there's not even a name. Just a single letter, T and another apology.

Akaashi scrunches the paper up and throws it to the corner, turning to walk down the window. His only thought as he looks down at the stretch of land below him is, _I was so naive._

He watches the sun until it dips and the day turns into dusk, and with it bringing his father's familiar slow, firm tread up to the iron wall.

'Are you ready to apologise, Keiji.'

He can't even bring himself not to feel disgusted with himself, not to hide the regret that he feels. He swallows down his pride and vows never to let it happen again.

'Yes.' 

***

**Author's Note:**

> And now BokuAka begins.


End file.
